Pour Toi
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: MichaelAmelie. Because he's her second chance at love and what would she be to stop it? Rubbish summary. For fading daylight. R


_For the wondrous Maddie (__**fading daylight**__) for her birthday._

_It's not a pairing I've written before, but I hope I do it justice for you, sweetie, and happy birthday!_

_I don't own anything_

_**Micamelie (MichaelAmelie)**_

_(honestly, writing this made me cry, because I miss Sam)_

* * *

_~x~_

The first time he speaks to her alone, it's the night of the funeral of his Grandfather – her lover. He's always been able to see how much Sam loved her, even though _he_ never met her for almost nineteen years, and now he can see how he had been wrong all those years. _He_, Michael, thought his Grandfather was wasting his time on an woman who kept to the shadows, someone who had no interest in showing she returned his feelings – but here, today, he has been able to see that she perhaps loved him _more_ than Sam loved her.

After all, she had the strength to push him away to keep him safe – _and_ to keep him there.

He can't sleep – he supposes the events of the day ought to have drained him to the point of exhaustion, yet when he laid with Eve in his arms, he couldn't sleep a wink. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't; all he could think about was Sam, about how he's now gone and he can never say another word to him.

The last place he saw him was the church, so he headed to the church, never thinking that another person would be in here in the early hours of the morning.

Yet here she is, sitting on the pew she had been seated at earlier, tears sliding down her face and she makes no attempt to hide her raw emotion on her face. As he walks towards her, she doesn't appear to hear him, her eyes focused on the place where Sam's coffin lay mere hours before, the last place they could see his body for eternity.

Finally, as he becomes merely three metres away from her, the waves of blonde hair down her back move as her attention locks on Michael. For the shortest of seconds, she brightens, not noticing the colour difference in Michael's hair to Sam's, and she thinks her prayers for him have been answered.

Then she realises, and the fall is greater than she was before, the tears sliding down her face so much more furiously than before, clouding her eyes over as she blinks them out.

"What do you _want_?" she hisses, turning away again to focus back on where Sam has laid before, trying to almost bring that moment back through the power of her eyes alone.

He doesn't answer straight away, simply seats himself on the end of her pew, not daring get any closer to her, yet wanting to be as close as he can to Sam. "I…I couldn't say goodbye," he mutters finally, running a hand through his hair as he closes his eyes. "It's been a few damned_ hours_ and it feels as if he's been gone forever and I _hate_ it!" he continues, his voice growing angrier and angrier with each word.

She turns to him again, shocked at his choice of vocabulary in a _church_, and waits for him to realise his mistake.

"Sorry," he mutters again, burying his head in his hands mere seconds later. "I hate him for leaving. He _promised_ when I…when I became this that he would be there for me forever, and now what do I have? A life of forever with nobody who cares for me or even bothers about me. just _nothing_," he breaks down into tears he has yet to shed, rivalling Amelie's emotion as he speaks.

She doesn't say a word as they sit there together, tears falling down both their faces for a common reason, doesn't ruin the silence and near peace the closeness to Sam brings them.

Not until she stands to leave as dawn approaches, does she utter a word. "He loved you, Michael," she tells him, looking down at him, her grey eyes meeting his that belonged to Sam also. "Through my own selfishness and beliefs for his safety, I never saw him with you, but those months just passed, he spoke about you continually. You were his legacy, the person he believed could continue what he had started," her tone is soft, gentle as she speaks to him, softer than he can ever think he has heard it.

She walks away swiftly, not allowing him chance to even process what she said, let alone answer. However, as she walks down the aisle, she turns back and smiles ever so slightly at him, dislodging the tears on her cheeks with this movement.

"You can do what I never allowed him to do," she tells him, fresh tears streaming down her face as she remembers her actions. "You can fight for what you want. _Fight_, Michael, and I don't think I can deny you…and, perhaps, you can allow him to live on, through your achievements."

The door slams behind her as she steps through, leaving Michael alone in the cold and suddenly creepy church, almost as if the aura has gone now Amelie has. But he shakes his head, unable to accept that as he, too, stands up to leave, muttering, "Bye, Grandpa," as he walks out.

_~x~_

Almost with an unspoken agreement, the pair of them meet the following night in the church and, like before she left, it feels warmer again. This time, neither of them speak for the duration of the night besides a murmured goodbye as he leaves earlier this time, not wanting to be alone in the church.

As he leaves, she can't help but feel a fresh wave of sorrow that, again, someone is leaving her. Michael reminds her so much of Sam, reminds her of how she had the chance to be for many years yet denied herself it, proclaiming the good of the town was more important, that Sam's life shouldn't be put into question over her love for him. Yet all this means is that she missed out on what she _could_ have had, now regretting these decisions she made that break her heart now.

Michael: he's a beacon of light, someone she already cannot deny him what he wants – he's another version of her Sam, someone who fights for what his heart wants and tries to accept nothing less.

But maybe, this time, she'll let Michael get what he wants…to make up for her not giving Sam his heart's desire, she'll allow Michael whatever he longs for, to help appease her for not giving Sam what he wanted.

She hopes it will work.

_~x~_

Three weeks later and they continue to sit in the church that, as each day passes, seems to become less and less of a solace for forgetting about Sam's death, less of a place for them to imagine him being there with them. His spirit seems to ebb away, the church becoming a church again, somewhere to discuss the times they have shared rather than to mourn.

She misses him more than anything, yet she doesn't know what she would do without Michael already. Just his presence makes her remember that she has no right to demand all the sympathy for Sam's death because other people are suffering as well. She can read in his face that he hasn't anyone else to talk to, that the others in his house can't comprehend the loss of someone so close to them, the only person they have. Not that they particularly could, she laments, for they are human and, no matter how they viewed Sam, the word 'vampire' would always overhang him.

"He taught me how to cheat at poker so I could play my Dad and beat him to get the guitar I wanted," Michael tells her softly, his voice filled with pride. They're comparing stories about Sam, about the good times…as neither of them want to remember the bad.

"For the first time in three centuries, I found someone who would dance with me," she murmurs wistfully, recollecting the time when he surprised her with a gramophone with a tune which was recollected from centuries before. "We danced in…I believe it was this very building, danced the night away, his hair gleaming in the candlelight," her eyes fill with tears again as the memory becomes too much. She can almost see the silhouette of their dancing bodies, the way she was so much more carefree in his presence, how his mouth opened with laughter when she spoke.

"That sounds cool," is all Michael can say in response, not knowing how to approach that. Yet, in the back of his mind, he began to think about how he could make her happy again in this room, if only for a few minutes, if he could let her heal and make one of the most painful memories a good one.

She laughs ever so slightly, wiping the tears from her eyes as she tries to maintain her usual composure for the first time since they first spent the night together in the church. "I suppose 'cool' would be an adequate way to put it," she agrees, her mouth twisting awkwardly around the word almost alien to her. "I must go, Michael…I…I have to work," she digs out the age-old excuse of work to be able to leave, to allow herself to escape the building which features in so many of her memories.

He watches her walk away slowly, entirely the opposite of the Amelie he saw during the Feast seven months ago who was strong and defiant. All she seems like now is a fragile child, someone who needs protecting, even though she should be the person who needs the least protection.

Yet, as he continues to sit in the church in silence, he thinks that, sometimes, it's the people who you don't expect to need your help who do.

_~x~_

He gets up that morning late, so late that even Eve has gotten up before him. She doesn't greet him as he walks into the kitchen and he can tell she's mad at him about something.

Yet he doesn't probe it as he pours a cup of coffee and sits down to read the paper, his head filled with how he can help Amelie. She's hurting more than he is, hurting so badly that he doesn't know what he can do to help – but he knows he has to. Nobody else knows what it feels like to have lost someone so close in such a manner, something even he can't begin to understand.

"Michael, are you even _listening_ to me?" Eve snaps right in his face with such a volume that he can't help but jump as he jolts back into the here and now.

"What?" he mutters, not daring to look at her because he knows she's absolutely crazily angry at him, the palpability of her heartbeat telling him this.

"Where do you go on a night?" she repeats and his head shoots up to look at her as he hears this – where does she think he goes?

"Um…why?" he tries to stall, wondering if it'd be healthy for him to tell her where he does go and why, or if it'd be safer to keep his mouth shut.

"I wake up _every night_ and you're never there," her voice turns quieter as tears begin to well in her eyes. "Are you seeing someone else, Michael? Is it a vampire?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that!" he protests back, telling her that there's someone that he meets. "I…I go to the church because I want to…I miss my Grandpa and I just want to be closer to him for as long as I can."

She doesn't say anything to this, but he can tell that she thinks he's crazy, that he shouldn't be doing this so many weeks after Sam's death. "Honey, I think you need help," she finally responds, placing her hand on his until he wrenches it away.

"No, I think that you should be a little more understanding now that I just want to…I just want to be able to think and being in a house that seems to have forgotten _everything_ about what's gone on is pissing me off!" he explodes this time, standing up and knocking his coffee cup over with a swipe of his hand. Eve can't help but sit there in shock, looking scared as Michael, for the first time at her, goes crazy.

"Ok, Michael, whatever," is all she says in response. "Do what you want, when you want. I don't care. Just don't expect me to still be here waiting for you when you're back to being you again."

And he knows, in this moment, that she's dumped him.

_~x~_

"What's this?" Amelie asks in confusion as she walks into the church to see a music player all set up to be played, Michael standing next to it.

"I thought that…you said that it was a happy memory you had with Sam, so I thought that maybe modernising it would help this place be happy again," he shrugs, trying to explain the logic behind his thoughts. "And Ed Sheeran is a pretty good singer, so I thought that'd be a good option, but if you don't like him, I'll change the song," he begins to babble as he tries to explain his good deed, watching as the hint of a smile slid across Amelie's face.

"That is a lovely gesture, Michael," she murmurs as she steps closer to him, leaning over to press the button to turn the music on. Instantly, the dulcet tones of The A Team begin to chime throughout the otherwise silent church, perhaps not the best song choice, he laments after he remembers the subject of the song is.

However, Amelie doesn't seem to notice: instead, she simply loses herself in the similarities to the night nearly fifty three years ago, the feeling of someone's arms around her as she moved to the music, hearing the breathing of another even if unnecessary for them directly in front of her…it's the closest she has felt to sane for weeks now, the first semi-bright spot in her otherwise now dark and dank existence.

"Thank you, Michael," she tells him as they separate once the song is over, it being a little _too_ weird to continue for more than one. "Whilst I didn't exactly understand the song, it was a pleasant change…" she trails off, not knowing what to say in the suddenly slightly awkward situation.

He nods before collecting his music player and smiling slightly at Amelie. He thinks that she's looking better than before, that perhaps she'll never be as dark as at the beginning: he can't say that she's been that way for many weeks now. "I think…I think that I'm done here, Amelie," he whispers, almost unable to believe he's saying this himself. "It's nice to know that you loved him because I was brought up thinking you had just used him. But…I think I've outgrown this, staying in here because he was in here. I'm going to go crazy if I continue to imagine he could come back; he can't, I know that. So…I need to go live my life. I'll _never_ forget him, but something Eve said to me made me realise that I can't…I can't carry on with this. Goodbye," and, with this, he walks out of the church slowly, shutting his eyes as he realises that this will be the last time he ever speaks to Amelie alone…probably. She always speaks to Claire, the one she 'owns'; what vested interest in him could she have?

.

She doesn't entirely understand why he chose _today_ to leave, why he hadn't came to the realisation she has had for a long time that it's not healthy, yet she continues to come because it's an obsession. She grieves every day, something that not even Michael's minute influence has managed to overcome, and now she has nobody to understand her grief. She's overreacting now; everyone else has moved on from the death, even the grandson – even Sam's _son_ gave up grieving near instantly.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's aware that feeling like this is called depression, that she has no way out of the pain and suffering and that she doesn't know what to do; she has nobody to turn to that shall understand how she feels.

It's all so very lonely.

_~x~_

The next day, she can no longer take it. The comfort of Michael being in the same position as her stopped her visiting his grave for every second of the day she could manage, yet now…now, it calls to her. It was wishful thinking that he remained in the church with all the happy memories; he is out in the cold, dank dirt and nobody, not one _single_ soul, can understand how she feels.

The only one who knows her is Samuel…and he's dead.

She wants to give herself to him, wants to make sure that he knows that she loves him; that's the excuse she gives herself as she slits her wrists and ensures that they don't close over. It hurts, of course it does, but she can't help but think of the positives this move can have upon her relationship.

She begins to get colder and colder, plummeting to an inner body temperature that feels too low even to a vampire, but yet her eyes continue to refuse to close. It's as if she can't leave, that she cannot depart this world, something which is backed up when her 'cavalry arrives'.

The noises behind her startle her yet she does not move even as the footsteps become louder and louder – perhaps, if it is Oliver, he will finish her in the most respectful of ways, allow her to move on to be with Samuel once again.

Yet it isn't Oliver.

It's Michael.

The similarities between him and his grandfather astound her again, especially with her vision becoming weaker as the minutes tick by. Yet he doesn't look the near happy soul he was merely last night: he's concerned, frightened, worried, and she realises that there's more to this than just her – the girl, her Protectee, is suffering also.

"You're trying to be with him, aren't you," he doesn't ask it as a question, simply makes it a statement because he already knows the answer. The others can't hear him so she simply nods, allowing him to touch her wrists to remove the silver coins with an almost sizzling noise. In all honesty, she can't remember how many hours it's been since she sat down here, how many hours since she began to murmur to Sam how much she loves him, how much she misses him, how proud he ought to be of his grandson who is _just_ like him.

"I can't do it, Michael," she whispers back, her eyes brimming with tears. "How can I live without him?"

The boy, he doesn't know what to do or to say, yet he knows enough that this cannot go back to the others: only because he knows how she feels is he privy to this information, any other person knows nought.

"You just have to get through it," is all he says. "Do it your own way, Amelie; run the town with an iron fist, work until work is the only thing you can think about and then maybe you've a chance of moving on. I don't know. But this isn't the way to do it," and this is all he can say because Claire is coming over and Amelie _really_ doesn't want her to know how Michael is the only one who can help her.

.

She allows them to drop her off at her office in Founder's Square, only accepting because Michael offered and he's the only one who has helped her thus far. She could run back there, yet she knows that he is right, that she can't carry on as she is. She must work.

Michael…he's the one person who understands her at the minute, she thinks, the only person who accepts her flaws for Sam and her actions without judgement because he knows how she feels. And, more than that, he's _Sam_…but he's more than Sam because Michael hasn't left yet but Sam did.

And if that's the only extra thing Michael has, then that's the greatest thing she could ever have.

Or want.

_~x~_

The weeks pass by and she does as he suggested, throwing herself into work she has left for long periods of time, until the only thing she can think of is the town. She doesn't eat human food, doesn't sleep, doesn't do anything that could detract from her focus on keeping Morganville running as Sam would have wanted it.

The only person who can even get into her thoughts is Michael; even Claire, the girl who seems to want her attention every three seconds, cannot be given more than the attention she needs – but Michael, Michael's different. He hasn't asked her for anything, hasn't wanted anything, yet she finds herself thinking of him nearly every day, wondering how he's moving on without Sam. She wants to ask him this, to spend time with him like she did every night for so many weeks, but he's got his own life to lead…and she can't interrupt that.

After all, she's the elderly vampire who tormented his grandfather – what interest would he have in spending time with her?

So she continues to work and work, not bothering with Myrnin, speaking only to Oliver to order him around, and finds herself strangely at peace…well, as much at peace you can be when you have nobody to love.

Or does she not?

_~x~_

He knows that it's illogical to think of Amelie as anything other than the Founder, Claire's boss, the woman who his grandfather loved, yet he can't help it. She's on his mind every day, be it in the house playing his guitar or out teaching – he wonders how she's getting on without Sam, without _him_, and wonders if, next time, he'll get there on time to save her from suicide. It's a scary thought, yet he knows from those few weeks that she's not the badass woman she tries to make herself out to be, the harsh and ice-like Queen she professes to be; she's delicate, fragile, and she's lived hundreds of lifetimes to realise that perhaps there's nothing worth living for.

Nobody seems to bother him anymore when he's writing his music, he realises somehow: Eve stopped caring long ago; Shane hasn't ever been bothered and Claire spends more time at the lab than she does at home. All this means is that Amelie is continually on his mind when he works, the wondering about how she is somehow making him write song after song…songs which, as he reads them back later, all seem to centre around a boy loving someone perhaps he shouldn't.

It scares him that, perhaps, he may like her more than he should, so he tries to force any thoughts of her down when he's not writing music. He makes himself think of _anyone_ but her, tries to ensure that the image he has of her is of the Ice Queen he knew before…but it's hard. He's seen beneath her skin and he knows that she's never going to be able to look like that in his mind again.

.

He writes and writes music, more and more until, finally, he has the album he's wanted for so many months. The dedication is simple for him: it's _pour toi, _because it's the only French he knows and he wants her to know that it's because of _her_ that he wrote the album.

He can't even tell _what_ he feels anymore: he's not seen her since the time of shutting down Ada, can't remember the last time he spoke to her, yet the longing seems to drive itself on and on, his brain and heart desiring for him to speak to her somehow. Even if it's just to see how she is, that'd be enough for him – at the minute.

It's probably unreciprocated, yet he feels almost as Sam told him once how he felt for Amelie. "_She makes me feel warm inside whenever I think of her," he had said, "Anything I do when I think of her seems one hundred times better than when I'm not – I can't explain it, Michael, but I feel something for her_."

And that's how the last Glass boy feels. It's wrong, oh so wrong, for him to feel something for _Amelie_, yet he does and it's bloody scary. How can he tell her this, tell her that he loves her, if she doesn't feel anything for anyone other than Sam?

So he doesn't bother going to talk to her at all, simply plays some shows in Common Grounds…where he's offered a record deal in Dallas.

So he _has_ to talk to her.

_~x~_

The moment he steps through the door, she's taken back to the church, all the nights in the church, and she can't help but smile as he walks in. He's her drug, she realises somehow, the one who makes her actually _feel_ something other than pain for the first time in so many years. It's almost ironic that it's the grandson of the only other person to initiate emotions like this, she thinks, wondering how she's managed to go all these _months_ without him.

He's nervous, she realises, and she thinks that the reason is because he thinks that she'll reject his request. Not that she could – she still remembers when she promised herself that she'd always give him what he wants, even if only for his resemblance to Sam which is no longer the only reason. But she doesn't pick up on the way that his hands are shaking, doesn't have the ability to get inside his head to understand that he's simply nervous to be in her company again.

"Can I go to Dallas with my friends and record my songs professionally?" he asks her, dropping the homemade CD on her desk for her to look at. The front is empty save for the title – **LOVE GETS US THROUGH** – and then the dedication: _pour toi_.

"You may, Michael, so long as it is with Oliver," she murmurs as she reads the dedication again and again, wondering if she's imagining that it's in French or whether it is. "But…what is the meaning of the dedication?" she inquires, unable to decide.

He grins slightly, despite the information Oliver must attend also, yet it's sheepish as she looks at him, a grin that reminds her of Sam in a positive way. "I don't know much French and…I wrote it for you," he rushes it out, blushing as deep as a vampire can blush. "As I can go, can I go and begin to get packed as I want to leave tomorrow?" his embarrassment has him wanting to leave, wondering if she'll figure out what it means before he does so.

"If you allow me to listen to this, then certainly," she holds up the CD pointedly, a smile sliding onto her face as she looks at him. He's a sun, full of energy, brightness – the epitome of brilliance. And he's written an album for her…she can't accept this, not without hearing it.

And so he groans but nods, taking his leave to escape before she can play it and hear the message he is trying to put across to her in the words.

That, even though he has never consciously thought it, he loves her.

_~x~_

It's a relatively long album, with twenty four songs, yet Amelie manages to make it last all night, playing each song over and over again to try and decipher every possible meaning in it. Each time, she tries to dissuade herself from instantly believing the song is for her because why _would_ he write these songs for her? The words individually mean almost nothing to her, many colloquial terms she would never use, yet the only message she can understand is that someone loves another, yet they don't seem aware of it.

_Does he love me_?

She can't think of anything but this burning question as she repeats the songs over and over again until she is absolutely word and note perfect for if she happens to play one of her musical instruments again.

Part of her is guilty for the excitement that he could _love_ her because she should still love Sam and _definitely_ not Michael, but she can't help but feel the ecstatic electric feeling spreading through her body as she realise there is no mistake – he wrote those songs to tell her he loves her.

But, strangely, she doesn't feel as if she ought to tell him right now. No, for the first time in weeks, she decides she is stable enough to sleep, that she should be able to close her eyes and wake up in the morning without dreaming of Sam.

Well, there's always a first time for everything.

_~x~_

The morning comes and, as she thought, there are no thoughts of Sam as she slept.

For the first time since his death, she feels at peace.

It's time to tell Michael she understands, she decides, time to stop him before he heads to Dallas to inform him that his music is the epitome of perfection for them.

But he's already gone.

She rings the house time and time again, opening a portal to the Glass House to confirm that there is no sign of life inside. He's gone. He's gone before she can tell him she understands, that she knows everything, that she's willing to relinquish Sam for him.

She can tell him when he returns, she decides, but she knows that she won't. It's something she can't keep ahold of, something that requires the courage she has for such a fleeting time.

She'll let him go.

He'll never be hers and it's because, once again, she took advantage of something for herself, when she should have made someone else understand first.

_~x~_

People are beginning to lose their memories mere days after he returns, yet she doesn't dare go to him. He's called her a couple of times, leaving messages for her to call him back – it's almost like a real relationship, except that it isn't – and she doesn't…but now there's the chance that he could forget who she is to him, that he could forget everything that's happened in the last few months.

It's people who have something that they need to forget that suffer, she thinks, people who want to go back to a time when things were utterly simple for them and they were nothing but happy. Every second, she's scared that it shall affect her and send her back to being with Sam because, if she's truly honest, Michael can never replace him. He's the _new_ version of Sam, the replacement, something she knows will always be true, no matter if she loves him or not.

After all, she loved Sam first.

Yet every day comes and goes without her forgetting Michael, the struggles for Morganville being the focus of her thoughts to the point where Oliver takes it from her.

She goes into a room and sleeps, wounded both mentally and physically, exhausted beyond a time before she can remember – worse than with Sam.

And, when she wakes up, she's forgotten.

She can't remember Sam's death or anything from the time of Bishop; she can only remember the good days of her and Sam, the days when she was happy – blissfully so – and had everything she wanted.

The door to her room opens and there's Michael standing in the doorway, having heard about the problems with Oliver and wanting to talk to her…he's finally managed to track her down to here, since she's been avoiding him.

He takes a step forwards as she does, him knowing it's her…whilst she mistakes him for Sam, the man she thinks she only loves at the minute. The lighting makes his blond hair look burnt red, the colour of Sam's, and that's all she can think of – Sam.

No matter how much she loves Michael in her right mind, Sam shall never leave.

But he doesn't realise that she thinks he's his grandfather as her arms wrap around him and she kisses him, passion running through the entire kiss as she tries to put everything she has ever felt for Samuel Glass into the kiss. She tries to make him realise that she loves him, something _Michael_ realises…but this isn't directed towards him.

He's about to tell her how he feels when she releases him, but her face simply breaks into a smile as she murmurs the name she thinks he is.

"Sam."

And then he runs, runs out of the room before Oliver gets there again, runs as far away as he can.

And, in the morning, he forgets too.

_~x~_

They're together when the remember somehow, their bodies closer than she expects as her memory comes back and she remembers what she did, what she said. And he remembers as well, remembers how he felt when she thought he was Sam.

"Michael," she breathes his name, motioning for him to follow her into the darkest corner of the cave so she can talk to him. "I…I didn't mean it. That was the past, I realise now."

"Forget it, Amelie," he tries to act brave but he's crumbling from inside, his hopes shattered. He doesn't even know why he fell for her – she never did anything to show she loved him back and he just assumed. "I know you love Sam more than anything; you sort of showed that."

He begins to walk away, his eyes clouding over with tears as she yanks him back by his sleeve, almost feral with her movements in comparison to the usual cool, collected style she takes. "I agree: I will _always_ love your grandfather. There is no escaping that; he is the one true love I have."

"Then why am I here?" he shoots back, trying to escape, trying to hurt her to make her let him go. "Just destroy the CD. It means nothing."

"Child, if you would allow me to finish, I would continue with my statement," she is slightly sharp with him as she is with most younger generations, their insolence astounding her to the point of anger. "I was _trying_ to say, before you interrupted; he is the person who introduced me to love, the person who I shall never forget perhaps partially because of his sacrifice for me. Yet, Michael, you remind me so much of him, bring out every good memory I have of Sam. You are almost one with him and, if you would be willing to accept that, I feel that perhaps we can have a future," she doesn't come out with "I love you" because that's just not her style, no matter what she feels, and she can only hope that he'll tell her he loves her so she can respond.

He doesn't say a word for what feels like forever to Amelie, her eyes roaming his face as she tries to see what he thinks.

"I love you," is all he says and then his lips are on hers and she can tell that this is Michael and not Sam because she knows…she knows that Sam is dead and that there is no way he is coming back…no way at all.

But she has Michael, the angelic boy who has her feeling warm again, a modern version of her in the past. He's the replacement Sam, the second chance they never got because she was too cautious and wanted him to be safe.

This boy is a ray of sunlight, has a streak beneath him of pure steel that she tried to ignore in Sam, and she can't break him.

But, more than that, she's not going to try.

After all, this is her second chance.

What would she be if she ruined it?

_~x~_

* * *

_So, what do you think of that?_

_Don't __fav or read without reviewing please and thanks._

_Maddie, happy birthday again, sweetie, and sorry for any spoilers in this :'(_

_Vicky xx_


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